


You're Never Learning French

by enthusiasmgirl



Series: Reductress Headlines + Aziraphale Prompts [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is Bad at French, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27550942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusiasmgirl/pseuds/enthusiasmgirl
Summary: Aziraphale is an angel, and therefore should be able to use a minor miracle to speak any language he pleases as well as he wishes to. So when he and Crowley return to Paris to eat crepes at the Eiffel Tower restaurant, Crowley finally asks him: Why is his French still so terrible?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Reductress Headlines + Aziraphale Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013868
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	You're Never Learning French

**Author's Note:**

> So just for fun and to motivate me to work on some longer fic projects in this fandom, I have challenged myself to write a series of fics based on [ this Tumblr post.](https://enthusiasmgirl.tumblr.com/post/187738754323/aziraphale-reductress-headlines-crowley)
> 
> This fic is specifically based on this image:  
> 
> 
> See the end of the fic for historical references.
> 
> Any bashing of France or the French people implied here is not personal. Aziraphale had some bad experiences, and has also been patriotically an English angel for many years and developed a soft spot on that front, so it's to be expected that he'd be grumpy about it. I'm sure France is a lovely country, and one I would very much like to visit someday.
> 
> Thanks to [prettybirdy979](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybirdy979/pseuds/prettybirdy979) for being my beta and cheerleader with this one, and to the Do It With Style Discord for their collaborative sprints that helped me get it done.

The autumn air was crisp and cool, and the sunset a glorious manifestation of God’s capacity for creating beauty, set in hues of amber that faded gently into clear blue sky as the evening waned. Aziraphale sighed, content as he raised his fork and got his first taste in several hundred years of crepes made the way only the French could. He tried not to blush at the moan that escaped him.

“Oh, er… merci beaucoup,” he said to their waiter as they poured him more wine, butchering the syllables of what he knew was supposed to be a romance language.

“Angel…” Crowley said, familiar curiosity in the way he said the affectation, causing Aziraphale’s heart to speed up as he wondered what might be coming. “... what’s the deal with that, anyway? Been meaning to ask.”

Aziraphale straightened, suddenly self-conscious and prepared to take offense if needed. “The deal? With what, my dear?”

“With your French,” Crowley replied. “Several hundred years since the Revolution, and you’re still barely passable. Surely, you can use a miracle to speak any language you want perfectly eloquently. You’ve got to be doing it on purpose! What I can’t figure out is why.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, letting out the breath he’d been holding. “That. Well, you are correct, of course, that if I wanted to I could certainly recall it and speak it with near perfection. I just… well…”

“Come on,” Crowley said. “Out with it.” And oh, he did find joy in Aziraphale embarrassing himself.

“Don’t you find all of this a bit… vulgar?” Aziraphale asked, as he polished off his dish. He debated in his mind how angelic it would be if he dipped his fingers into the sauce left on his plate and then licked them clean.

“What? You don’t mean the food. Are you talking about the Eiffel Tower?” Crowley wondered.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale stated firmly, “Guy de Maupassant was absolutely correct that the best view of Paris really is from here, where you don’t have to be confronted by its steely, industrial brutality spoiling your view. But also, I mean this ridiculous country. In a more general sense.”

“Oh ho ho,” Crowley said, leaning back in his chair like a cat spotting a tasty bird. “You mean France. It’s the French you think are vulgar! You’re a proper Englishman now, aren’t you?”

“I am not!” Aziraphale huffed.

“Come on, is that really so bad? I mean, you’re not exactly a proper Angel of Heaven anymore,” Crowley told him.

“Well that is... “ Aziraphale sighed in frustration and told himself to let it go. “I’m just not a fan of France, that’s all. 

“Until you’re peckish”, accused Crowley. “But even in that case, you still refuse to dignify its language with a miracle, apparently.” He shook his head, chuckling in disbelief. “That’s a bit dramatic, even for you Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale shot him a look that was supposed to convey how offended he was by that accusation, but only served to further reinforce the truth of it. “Well I have needed to relearn it, on occasion,” Aziraphale defended himself. “Hugo and Verne come to mind. But I didn’t feel it was worth retaining afterwards. Too many unpleasant memories.”

Crowley took a gulp of his wine, and seemed ready to move on to a new topic of conversation, which put Aziraphale out slightly. “You’re not curious as to what the events are that I find so upsetting to remember?” he asked.

Crowley smiled, understanding that Aziraphale was choosing to be difficult. “Alright. What’s your problem with France? Besides the time they tried to execute you.” He leaned in, eager for the explanation.

“Well, I’m not sure if you knew this or not. That is to say, it was a period of time when we weren’t on speaking terms…” Aziraphale started.

“Well it can’t have been the 19th century. Was it the 14th? Oh, I hated the 14th,” Crowley pressed, trying to think of which particular squabble Aziraphale was referring to. They weren’t, unfortunately, infrequent in their history, even with the Arrangement. In fact, if anything, the Arrangement had made the situation worse.

“No,” Aziraphale said.

“Was it after your little blow-up about your weight in the 17th century?” Crowley asked.

“No,” Aziraphale stated testily, “and it was not about my weight. It was about your refusal to understand that when one asks “how do I look” upon having just purchased an item of clothing, it is entirely inappropriate to respond in any way other than vaguely complementary statements. It’s the basic rules of polite society.” He took a moment to calm himself. 

“The 15th century incident with the printing press?” Crowley suggested, smiling slightly at the memory. “The smutty book thing. You were upset, weren’t you. I still say you can’t blame me for starting a trend the humans would’ve gotten to eventually anyway.” 

He sighed as Aziraphale began to work himself up all over again about a now half-millenia old argument. “Alright, moving on then,” he said. “You were saying? About why you refuse to speak French properly?”

“Oh, right.” Aziraphale smoothed the front of his waistcoat out as he relaxed again and continued with his explanation. “The period of time I’m referring to was in the mid-16th century. To be honest I can’t seem to recall what started it, only that we had both decided to be quite stubborn about whatever it was. Not the best timing for it, if I’m being honest, because Heaven was also particularly unhappy with me. All the various religious ideas being discussed and promoted finally began circulating back to them.”

“I told you that your little conversations with Martin Luther encouraging him were a bad idea,” Crowley reminded him. “Wait… was that why we weren’t talking?” They both searched their memories for a moment. “Nah,” Crowley finally said dismissively. “I’m sure it’ll come to us.”

“Yes, well...” Aziraphale said, “In any case, they decided that the situation in England was, as Gabriel put it, ‘getting rapidly away from me’ and forced me to turn my attentions to France exclusively, supposing, I imagine, that Catholicism had a better shot at a proper comeback there. And I can’t even begin to describe to you how awful it was.”

“France during the Wars of Religion? I bet,” Crowley said.

“And before you say anything,” Aziraphale said unprompted, “I fully recognize that you had it much worse with the Spanish Inquisition. And I’m extremely grateful to have escaped the majority of the Crusades as well. But still… when not even a wedding is enough to distract from a massacre?” Crowley was surprised to see that much emotion in the angel’s eyes over the whole thing after all these years. It reminded him of standing next to him as the world flooded, and as they watched the Son of God be crucified.

“Anyway,” Aziraphale said after a moment, shaking off his solemnity. “Heaven at long last seemed to give up on the idea of quelling the wave of Protestantism happening in Europe, and thankfully without giving into my ridiculous request to be permanently reassigned to New France! That’s how desperate I was, can you imagine? Me in the middle of the Canadian wilderness attempting to convert some smallpox-ridden Indigenous tribe member? 

Crowley grimaced at that. “Yeah, that is… a lot.”

“Tending to the souls of alcohol-soaked fur trappers rather than simply wearing the output of their labour,” Aziraphale continued.

“You did love the trend for beaver-felt hats,” Crowley said.

“I did. But I have no desire to ever encounter a beaver, thank you very much,” Aziraphale said emphatically.

“Oh, but I would. I’d love a beaver,” Crowley said, completely distracted now. “Swimming around collecting sticks and mud, building a lovely warm dam. Ingenious, really, dams.”

“No, it doesn’t bear thinking about,” Aziraphale said without acknowledging Crowley’s musing. “Instead, I was finally allowed to return to England and support the new Church there, just in time to enjoy a bit of Shakespeare with you. Took some getting used to, and of course under Elizabeth there was still a great deal of violence, but nothing compared to what I’d witnessed from the French. That’s when I decided to start thinking about what I could do to make my assignment in London a bit more… permanent.”

“Oh, is that why?” Crowley said, surprised. “I’d always wondered. Figured you’d just gotten tired over the years.”

Aziraphale was aghast at this accusation, which amused Crowley greatly. “What? You never did like all the travel,” Crowley told him.

“Well… that may be true,” Aziraphale conceded, “but still! You complained about that more than I did. And of the two of us, I’m not the one who felt the need to take frequent naps.”

“Oh, come off it!” Crowley dismissed the insult. “I didn’t say I wasn’t tired! I just said you were!”

“I resent the implication that I decided to open my bookshop because I was… exhausted… or lazy!” Aziraphale retorted.

“Oi! Now you’re putting words in my mouth,” Crowley said back. “But since you’ve said them, maybe they’re not wrong!”

They went back and forth like this for another few minutes, until finally Aziraphale stood up as the waiter arrived and handed them their bill. “I may not remember why we weren’t talking then, but I certainly remember how it felt to need a break from you!” Aziraphale said, storming off.

“Where are you going?” Crowley asked.

“Montreal,” Aziraphale said sarcastically over his shoulder.

“Gaaaaaah,” Crowley moaned as he paid before fleeing to catch up to the angel and talk him down from his snit. Although… did Quebec still have beavers?

**Author's Note:**

> [The French Wars of Religion](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Wars_of_Religion) occurred from 1562-1598. Around three million people are estimated to have died from causes related to it and it is considered the second deadliest religious war in European history.
> 
> The specific incident within those that Aziraphale refers to as being traumatizing for him is the [St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Bartholomew%27s_Day_massacre) of 1572, in which the royal wedding of the future King Henry IV of France, a Protestant, to the Catholic Margaret of Valois led to Catholic violence against the Protestant Huguenots in several days of killing in which anywhere from 2000 to 30,000 people are estimated to have been slaughtered.
> 
> Around this time, the settlement of New France (what is today Quebec, Canada) was not yet properly settled - that wouldn't happen until 1608 - but was still a bustling centre of the [fur trade around beaver pelts](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/North_American_fur_trade#Origins) that was about to really take off, centered around European demand for the hats which Aziraphale was so fond of. Quebec would soon after settlement become a destination for Catholic missionaries.
> 
> And yes, [you can still find beavers in the wild around Quebec.](https://www.quebec-cite.com/en/what-to-do-quebec-city/wildlife-watching#:~:text=Beavers&text=Beavers%20are%20the%20biggest%20rodents%20in%20North%20America.&text=Where%20to%20see%20beavers%3A%20Parc,along%20the%20park's%20Scotora%20trail.) They are ingenious (and adorable) and Crowley is right to admire them.


End file.
